


Beatrice, Benedick, and the Marital Bed

by willowcrowned



Category: Much Ado About Nothing (2011), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 11:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowcrowned/pseuds/willowcrowned
Summary: Beatrice and Benedick's wedding night, wherein the repartee continues, Beatrice gets a theory or two confirmed, and Benedick makes a discovery of his own. Oh, and sex. That happens too.





	Beatrice, Benedick, and the Marital Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with the 2011 version of Much Ado with David Tennant and Catherine Tate in mind, but you are, of course, free to imagine whomever you think gives the most compelling performance.

The night after the wedding, Beatrice and Benedick are strolling through the corridors. Benedick is attempting to saunter the down the hall in his usual careless fashion, but his gaze keeps slipping to Beatrice, and the open adoration in his eyes belies the illusion he’s trying so hard to maintain. Beatrice, for her part, has clasped the elbow of Benedick in the usual manner of one being escorted, but she walks far closer to Benedick than strictly necessary and she keeps meeting his adoring gaze with a loving one of her own. Both of them are trying not to smile and are failing miserably. Their projections of any sort of casualness end the second they see the bedroom door. 

Beatrice quickly releases the arm of Benedick and pushes the door open. Benedick follows immediately after, closing the door as soon as both of them are inside, and locking it for good measure. 

There is a bed in the room, of course, and a few chairs on its left. To its right is a high window, which he immediately draws the blinds across. He turns back around to see Beatrice already pulling the pins out of her hair and slipping out of her outerwear. 

“Well my lord,” Beatrice says, mock-seriously, “I must congratulate you on your marriage, though I am afeared that your luck at winning my hand ends with the winning.” 

“Oh?” says Benedick, deadpan, as he lays his jacket on a chair and begins to unbutton his shirt. “And how’s that?” 

“For now you must share a bed with me,” replies Beatrice, “and as my dear cousin may tell you, for every ounce of warmth I give you I shall steal a measure of your covers. You have been resigned to cold feet for the rest of your life.” She has stripped down to her chemise and is sitting, stretched out like a cat, across an armchair. She watches Benedick undress with interest. 

“Is that all?” Benedick replies. “For my feet do not easily grow cold, and besides, my bedfellows have had much sadder tales of my conduct.” 

“Was your conduct that poor?” Beatrice responds, not missing a beat. 

Benedick smirks. “I found no complaints, though I did perhaps take up more room than I was warranted.” 

“Then why should I worry myself overmuch?” 

“For they, my lady, were soldiers, and you are not.” Benedick’s tone is soft, having lost its lightness. He stands in his pants and kneels before Beatrice, reaches up, and kisses her palm gently. 

Beatrice smirks, her theories confirmed. “Then we are similar, you and I.” 

Benedick freezes, eyes wide with suspicion and surprise. 

Beatrice snorts. “Fear not, my modesty is intact, for you are the first man I have ever loved, soldier or no.” 

“But not the first of your companions.” Benedick finishes. 

“Aye,” Beatrice says, “Hero, though my latest bedfellow, has kept me from my usual bedfellows this past year, but before that I was beloved of many ladies.” She pauses. “And you, I take it, of many lords.” 

“Indeed,” Benedick replies, “for you are the first woman I have ever loved, but you are not the first of my companions.” 

Beatrice pauses and frowns, returning to her teasing tone. “I see now a problem.” 

“And problem could that be?” 

She stretches and sits forward, raising Benedick up so that she can kiss his neck. 

“However much experience we have had,” she whispers in his ear, “it comes to naught when faced with this new endeavor.” 

“Show me, then,” challenges Benedick. “Show me what you know of ladies.” 

Beatrice caresses the stubble on his chin delicately, and he holds still. Smiling wickedly, she runs her thumb across his bottom lip. 

“And why should I listen to thy request, my lord? Thou mayest be my husband, but thou have not tamed me.” 

Benedick swallows. “Nor would I ask thee to be tamed.” 

“Then I repeat my question: if I be not tamed, why should I follow thy request?” 

Benedick can feel her breath on her cheek and he shivers, the arousal in his pants growing firmer. “I ask thee as thy lover.” 

Beatrice leans away. “That does not suffice.” 

“What would you have me do, sweet Beatrice?” 

Beatrice considers it, cocking her head. “Beg.” 

Benedick falls on his knees easily and looks up at her with love. “I beg.” 

Beatrice smiles and stands up, Benedick watching as she pulls the chemise over her head. 

She is glorious, statuesque. Her hair is arrayed in a halo about her head and slight curve touches her lips. Behind her is the bed, richly adorned in deep blues for a wedding night and her figure is stark against it. Truly, no Roman carving of Venus could match her. 

“What think thee, my lord?” She says, looking down at Benedick, who has an enraptured look on his face. 

“Thou art glorious my lady,” Benedick says quietly. “Always have I thought thee fair, though,” Benedick flashes a wry smile, “your beauty was obscured by all thy many faults.” 

Beatrice smiles. “And always have I thought thee noble, though thy nobility was obscured by all thy many faults.” 

Benedick grins, and stands up to kiss her. 

“One such fault,” Beatrice continues, dancing away from his grasp, “is thy lack of quickness.” 

“I assure my lady,” smirks Benedick, reaching again for Beatrice only to have her slip from his grasp. “I am quickened indeed.” 

“Then shall I remark on thy fastness?” 

“I am steadfast, my lady.” 

“Or perhaps on thy liveliness.” 

“All of me is as lively as thee would have me.” 

Beatrice grins, finally letting him catch her and kiss her. “Then show me.” 

It is Benedick’s turn to strip out of his undergarments. He somehow manages it with even more fanfare than Beatrice did, intentionally drawing Beatrice’s eyes to the bulge at his crotch. Beatrice rolls her eyes fondly at his performance, but there is a heat in her gaze that does not match her teasing. As he removes the last garment his member spills out, and a flash of uncertainty fills Beatrice’s eyes. 

“My lady?” Benedick asks, worried, “Art thou well? If thou would not proceed, I shall redress immediately.” 

“No.” Beatrice shakes her head after a moment. “Forgive me, I was shaken by my unfamiliarity. Please, my lord, join me if thou wilt.” 

“Gladly.” 

Beatrice falls back on the bed, letting Benedick climb atop her. He kisses downward from her throat to her stomach, then further, to where she grows wet. He runs a finger through the slickness, sucks it off his finger, then smiles at Beatrice. She is engrossed with him, attraction flushing through her face. 

“Kiss me,” she says, and Benedick moves to kiss her. “Not there! Not on my lips!” 

Benedick gives a grin and moves back down her body. He does not exactly kiss her there, where her legs meet, but explores it tentatively with his tongue. He swirls it around her slit, flicking it in briefly as he listens to her moans with intent. 

“Further up,” she says. “Touch me there.” 

Benedick looks where she indicates, and licks at it faithfully. He is delighted at the startled groan that proceeds from Beatrice. He does so again. 

“More,” she breathes out. 

Benedick acquiesces happily, swirling his tongue around repeatedly as her movements grow more and more erratic. 

“Stop,” she breathes finally, hand pulling on his hair. “I am too close to coming. I would not have our evening over before it has begun.” 

Benedick moves his mouth off her, still kneeling between her legs. He smiles up at her with much of his bravado gone, lips red and slick. His cheeks are blushed. Beatrice thinks she’s never seen a more beautiful sight. 

“Thou art a fair picture like this, my dear Benedick. Covered in my slick, kneeling between my legs.” 

Benedick lets out a quiet groan. 

“I should have supposed,” Beatrice continues, encouraged by his response, “that thou would like this. So eager to please. So craving instruction.” She pushes herself up so that she can reach him. Beatrice caresses his bottom lip with her thumb and smears the wetness across his cheek until it glints in the candlelight. 

Benedick lets out another moan. His cock bobs needily, completely untouched. It’s covered in precum, slick and red. Beatrice’s gaze flicks down to it, then back up to Benedick’s face. His cheeks redden further as she cocks her head and considers him. 

“My lady—” he dares, voice raspy. But Beatrice cuts him off. 

“Stand,” she orders, as if she were made for this. 

Benedick stands, one hand gripping onto a bedpost. Beatrice reaches out and strokes his length once, gently. The pads of her fingers trail along the underside of his cock. He shivers. Beatrice reaches the tip and strokes her first finger through the slit, curious. She licks her index finger and smiles. 

“So, husband, for thy excellent service I’ll offer a reward. What would thee have me do?” 

“I want thee.” Benedick gazes at her with love and lust mixed in his eyes. His pupils are dilated, his voice is thick with desire, but still he holds off, waiting for her verdict. “I would take thee as a husband does a wife.” 

Beatrice does not pause before replying. “An easy favor to grant, on my part.” She looks up at him, a gentleness in her glance that Benedick has seen only twice before. “And how wilt thou have me, husband? For I am yours.” 

“On thy back,” Benedick says. 

Beatrice reaches out and guides his hand to her body, pulling him close, before she falls back, legs spread. 

Benedick takes far too long to position himself between her legs. He is hesitant, tentative as he spreads her open with his hand, and he lingers outside her entrance long enough for her to see his lack of surety. 

The pause is torturous for Beatrice, having what she wants so close. “Please,” she asks finally, voice somewhere between a breathy whisper and the command of an officer. “Please.” 

“I do not want to hurt you,” Benedick says. 

Beatrice lets out a soft huff. “I am not untouched. You will not be the first thing to enter me. Be not worried.” 

Benedick leans forward until she can feel his breath on her cheek, and he slips in. 

It’s divine. 

Both of them groan in satisfaction, the single movement easing a hunger that had been growing between them since they had been teenagers. The slide is achingly, torturously slow for both of them, and Beatrice gasps as she feels a fullness yet unfelt. After far too long, Benedick finally bottoms out and pauses for a second to luxuriate in the warmth surrounding him, but Beatrice, for all her virtues, has never been patient, and she thrusts against him greedily, moaning at the stretch of his cock within her. 

For his part, Benedick feels nearly overwhelmed. Having been untouched, the sudden appearance of sensation is still too much. He is bent over Beatrice, making small whimpers, though of relief or of pleasure-pain even he cannot tell. 

Beatrice has anchored her legs around his waist and is using them to steady herself as she thrusts against him, wildly chasing her own finish. She rubs her clit once, twice, three times, and she’s gone, clenching around him involuntarily. 

This final tightness is what sends him over the edge— the final clench of her body around his. Clever, beautiful, funny Beatrice— wonderful Beatrice— is staring up at him like he’s the only thing in the universe that she wants and he’s staring back at her and every single emotion of the past few days comes crashing down through him. The whole universe except for him and Beatrice might disappear and he would not take notice. He spills in to Beatrice, waves of pleasure coursing through them. 

For those few seconds he is still, so golden in the candlelight that Midas himself would be shamed. There is sweat beaded on his upper lip, but the creases of stress that have lain beneath his eyes through the entire affair with Don Jon finally relax. He looks at peace, a boyish Adonis. 

Beatrice takes in the image with half-lidded eyes and smiles. Carefully, she slides off his softening cock and pulls him down to lay across her breast, her left arm around his shoulder. 

As he opens his eyes Beatrice says quietly, seriously, “I love thee, my dear Benedick.” She kisses his forehead. 

“And I love thee, Beatrice.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was helped along by (a) my horror that no one has written porn of Beatrice and Benedick (which I realize is a niche horror, but still-- it's been out for several hundred years), (b) an old hookup who took my research questions completely in stride, and (c) my unquenchable urge to make stupid puns. You were spared, dear reader, from my calling this fic 'Benedick has a Bene-Dick', only by my realization that this will be seen by people who would tease me endlessly if did so.
> 
> I'll admit that posting this feels weird because the fic doesn't feel done, but I've been poking at it for months and it doesn't seem to be getting any better, so I've gone ahead and posted it. 
> 
> As always, comments, questions, and concrit craved (especially if you can tell me what feels wrong about this.


End file.
